I still feel guilty for writing poems,
I don’t know if because useless
Or in case you disapprove.
Daydream No. 1
When death finally comes
I’ll greet it like old friends
Kisses on the cheeks
Hugs
Cuddles
My word it will be glorious
The peace
The rest
The rest
Status: Steps to Integration
Fresh new haircut, looking all presentable and shit.
I see what I did there
I used to have a Green Eggs and Ham shirt. I had two. I gave one away and the other is missing like everything else.
— Franklyn Monk (@fqmonk) March 3, 2015
I love this tweet, because it is heartbreaking, even more so if you stick in the missing Seussian rhyme, which I won’t give you, because fuck, really, I can’t do all the work here. I’ll repeat it once again, ‘the audience makes the poem’.
I need help I shout into the wilderness
Also, I’m a poet, I sez
Because it’s true
And because it’s the most creditability
I can muster these days
Poet, that’s the only thing you really need to know
About me, it’s true, and gives you a stalking path
If you wants to track me down
Look for the poet
Boo, here I am here I goes